


With the dawning of the light a new age begins

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Category: DCU (Comics), Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: 1960s, 1970s, AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Wonder Woman, Bisexuality, Canonical Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Dreams which are actually visions, F/F, F/M, Family, Feels, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Happy Ending, History, Humanity, Paradise Island, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Movie, Post-World War I, Post-World War II, Protests, Spoilers, Spoilers!, Themyscira, This story spans decades okay, War, World War I, World War II, and the DC canon will be more like vague references to canon really, but no Batman vs. Superman movie canon okay, changes, godhood, ignores all DC film and comic canon except for the Wonder Woman movie, okay so actually there will be some DC comics canon in here, this fic spans from 1918 to the current day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-12 01:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: !!SPOILERS!!In the end, despite everything he’s done, Diana doesn’t kill him.





	1. After the Great War

**Author's Note:**

> This plays fast and loose a bit with history. Also, I'm ignoring all the other DC canon, including BvS, because I can. 
> 
> I may/may not add more scenes to part one.

** Chapter One **

In the end, despite everything he’s done, Diana doesn’t kill Ares.

She doesn’t realise it then, but Diana is stronger than all the gods who came before – even Zeus. With her power shining and crackling like lightning, Diana fights Ares until his power is spent, and then...

... she strips him of his godhood.

Looking back, Diana will never quite know how she did it: grief and blind desperation pushed her to surpass herself in every way. Instinct and the need to save _everyone_ , even him, led to her finding a way to do something she can never reconstruct.

Ares takes on a thousand different faces as he screams: but when she is done, Ares lies sprawled in the debris from their battle and stares up at her with the pale and grime-streaked face of Sir Patrick Morgan.

“What have you done?” he croaks, and then: “ _What have you done!?_ ”

Diana doesn’t even know, except that the answer comes unbidden to her lips.

“You’re mortal,” she says, and realises the truth of it. “You’re no longer a god, of war or truth or otherwise. You’re _human_.”

Ares screams, a terrible sound of loss and grief and realised transformation, and tries to tackle Diana. She knocks him back into the dirt with minimal effort. She is, after all, a goddess – the only god left, thanks to Ares’ slaughter of all the other gods.

“Damn you!” Ares is shouting. “Curse you! May you and all your line wither and die in suffering!”

He switches from English to ancient Greek, the language of the gods, and curses continue to fall from his mouth. Diana just stands and watches him, feeling tired and aching with grief. Grief for the only one she has ever truly loved, a man who she has lost because of Ares own actions. And yet, even now, there is a spark of compassion in her heart for this man, reduced to nothing but the most basic humanity. 

For all its flaws, Diana believes that humanity is something special. Something worth saving.

Even Ares, God-Killer, God of War, has a spark of goodness in him somewhere. Diana knows this, because she must believe it, just as she must believe that humanity is capable of redemption.

Because if these things are not true, everything she does is pointless. And Diana knows better.

“Why?” Ares finally asks. His voice cracks. “Why not kill me? It would have been kinder.”

“Perhaps,” says Diana. She does not think so, but then she has barely touched the surface of what it means to be a god. To be a god all your life, and then have that stripped away... what does that make you? What is left? “But I have seen enough death this day... brother.”

Ares’ face twists with hatred, and something else that is impossible to read.

“You would call me _brother_ , you who have made me nothing?”

“You killed all your family,” Diana points out. “I was more merciful than you.”

Ares laughs.

“ _Merciful?_ ” he says, when he has caught his breath. “Oh, Princess, you do not understand the nature of cruelty, if that is what you think.” He chuckles, dark and bitter, and looks up at her again. “What now, then? Set me loose to live a mortal life?”

“No,” says Diana. “I don’t think so. Just because you are no longer a god does not mean that you cannot still whisper into the right ears. I will be keeping an eye on you.”

“And how will you do that?” Ares sneers.

Diana smiles, a hard, broken thing.

“You will be hiring a new secretary, I think, Sir Patrick.”

Ares bursts out laughing a second time. Diana pretends not to notice when the laughter turns to sobs.

* * *

The two of them catch a troop transport boat back to England.

Ares sits beside Diana in sullen silence. Diana managed to obtain a dress and coat while in Belgium to hide the armour, but her presence amongst the soldiers still draws curious looks. One of the soldiers dares to speak to her.

“Ma’am,” he says, with a smile on his lips, one which doesn’t reach his haunted eyes. “What’s a nice lady like you doing in a place like this?”

Next to her, Ares snorts. Diana doesn’t understand why.

“It was the quickest way to return to England,” she tells the soldier.

“Oh? But what were you doing in Belgium in the first place?”

“Fighting,” Diana says simply.

The soldier raises his eyebrows.

“A pretty girl like you?”

Diana glares.

“Just because I am _pretty_ does not make me helpless,” she says, and the soldier leans back, raising his hands.

“Whoa, okay. Didn’t mean to hit a nerve.” He leans forward again. “I suppose you’ve got a sweetheart out there somewhere?” Another grin.

Diana’s throat closes.

“I–” she manages. “I – yes. I did. But he–” Diana feels her eyes prickle with tears, and without meaning to, she lets out a sob.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” says the soldier. The smile is gone, and his eyes are full of grim understanding.

“Thank you. He was – he died saving many lives,” Diana says, and then puts a hand to her mouth as her body begins to shake. 

Before Steve and the German soldiers had arrived on Paradise Island, Diana had never seen anyone die, had never known what it was to lose someone she loved. In the past few days she’s seen so many people die; men, women and children; her fellow Amazons; her dear aunt Antiope, and of course Steve. Somehow, Diana had pushed it all to the back of her mind while she was dealing with Ares and trying to find them a way back to England, but now it all comes loose.

Diana is crying, great ugly sobs that convulse her entire body. She buries her face in her hands and weeps.

Next to her Ares sighs.

“I suppose that in Themyscira you had never seen anyone die,” he says.

Diana is crying too hard to respond. Not that she wants to.

“Death is the way of the world, Diana,” says Ares. “It is part and parcel of being mortal.”

“But why,” says Diana, “why does it have to _hurt_ so much?”

Ares is silent for a moment.

“Because that is what it means to love, in this world.”

Diana continues to cry.

Ares sighs again, and Diana feels a hand on her shoulder.

“The pain will never truly pass. But it will not always be the agony it is now. It will dull with time, and eventually you will be able to think of your Steve with fondness, without that sharp, fierce pain in your heart.”

Ares leaves his hand on her shoulder a moment longer, before the pressure is removed.

He and the soldiers leave Diana to express her grief. She cries until she cannot cry any longer. At some point, she sinks into an emotionally exhausted sleep.

* * *

Back in England, life is very different.

Diana still thinks London is hideous, in its varying shades of grey with all its toxic smoke and fog. The air is foul, there is nothing green and growing anywhere, and the people walk past one another without really looking at each other. Even the people are drab, here, in their black and grey coats and the clothing they wear underneath.

As the people of Britain try to rebuild their lives, Diana settles into her new one. There is so much to learn.

Ares, it seems – or rather, Sir Patrick – is a rather important person, back in Britain. In Themyscira, this would have meant that everyone knew his name. Here, it means that Ares operates in secret, and most of those who know his name have no idea what he really does.

“In short, I control British intelligence,” says Ares.

“You mean spies,” says Diana, who has spent all morning being given a lecture on what, exactly, Sir Patrick _does_ in Britain. “You control spies.”

“It is a little more complicated than that.”

“But we do not need spies anymore,” says Diana. “The war is over. I destroyed your power.”

“My dear Diana,” says Ares, giving her a look. “Do you really think it is that easy? Even if you refuse to believe that humanity is inherently dark in nature, after thousands of years of my whispering in their ears, do you really think that humanity will simply abandon warfare? As we speak, the generals and their minions are already preparing for the next war to come.”

“But there will be no next war!” says Diana.

Ares gives her a smile, condescending in nature.

“Think what you like. But keep your eyes and ears open, and see what you observe in the process.”

Much as Diana hates to take Ares’ advice, she does as he says. It is only sensible.

What she learns over the next few weeks dismays her. Ares’ current secretary is relieved to have been given an assistant, although she’s not too pleased at the need to train Diana from scratch. Diana finds herself sitting in on important meetings with important people, and even as she takes notes in shorthand and does all the things she is being taught to do, she listens and watches those around her. 

Ares is right, much as she hates to admit it. No one believes that there will be another war like the one which has just ended – already people are calling it the Great War, because it was so much greater in magnitude and horror than any war which had come before. But the important people in England’s military still believe that some kind of future war will come. It will not be as great, they think, nor as destructive, but it will come. 

And Diana is beginning to understand that what people believe shapes everything around them.

Diana wants to stop all wars, to ensure peace. Destroying Ares’ power in order to end the Great War was relatively simple, despite its difficulty. But ensuring peace forever, and derailing the next war? Diana has no idea how to go about it. None at all.

“They think that the next war will be in another hundred years or so, when the horrors of the Great War are nothing more than memory,” says Ares, somehow divining what Diana is thinking. He has a way of doing that. It is profoundly irritating. “I give them another twenty years.”

“I would like to remind you that I am a goddess and you are not,” says Diana without looking up from her typewriter. It’s her way of _saying remember that I can crush you and you have no way to stop me_.

Ares only shrugs, wry, and goes back to dictating correspondence.

Diana does not understand him.

* * *

Four months after the end of the Great War, Diana finds the courage to visit Steve’s mother.

Diana had never thought of herself as lacking in courage before, but when she thinks of visiting Steve’s family she finds herself afraid – afraid of what they will think and say, afraid of rejection... afraid of dredging up everything she’s gone through in the past few months.

But she owes this to Steve, and so eventually, she travels to the address listed for Steve’s next of kin on his enlistment papers. The trip to America takes nearly two weeks, and it takes even longer to get to Steve's family home, but eventually Diana knocks on Esther Trevor’s door. 

The door is opened by an older woman, who looks every bit of her age.

“May I help you?”

“I...” Now that she is here, Diana doesn’t know exactly what to say. “I knew Steve. I thought... I thought it was only fair that you knew what happened to him.”

Steve’s mother stares at Diana for a moment.

“You had best come in, dear,” she says, and her voice is fragile.

Esther shows her into the parlour and insists on making them both a cup of tea before she allows Diana to tell the story. But tell it Diana does. She doesn’t make any mention of Ares – in her few short months here, she has learned that those who believe in divinity do not believe in her gods, and that anyone who claims that the gods of the ancient Greeks were real will only be disbelieved. But she tells Esther the rest of it, that Steve was a spy who found documentation of a new chemical weapon, and was able to prevent it from being deployed.

“He saved many, many lives,” says Diana, her voice breaking. She takes a moment to compose herself. In England, great outpourings of emotion are frowned upon. Even grief is buttoned up, and expressed in other ways. At first Diana thought the people around her unfeeling, until she learned to read all the things they _didn’t_ say. She's not in England right now, but English behaviour is rubbing off on her. “Because of him, hundreds, perhaps thousands of people are alive today who would otherwise be dead. You should – you should be proud of him.”

Steve’s mother is crying silently, a hand over her mouth as though to stifle her grief. For a moment they sit there in silence, both mourning the man they loved in different ways.

Finally Esther says, “You never gave me your name.”

“Diana,” says Diana. “My name is Diana.”

“And what were you to my son, Diana?” Esther looks at Diana like she already knows.

Diana feels her face crumple.

“His last words to me were that he loved me,” she says softly.

Esther gives a long, shuddering sigh.

“Oh, my Steve,” she says, her voice trembling. She reaches out to take Diana’s hands. 

Startled, Diana looks up into blue eyes, exactly the same shade as Steve’s. 

“I am so sorry that Steve could not bring you here to meet me himself,” says Esther. “But I am glad that he found some happiness in his life, during such an awful time. Thank you for coming here today, Diana.”

Diana bites her lip, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“You deserved to know the truth,” is what she says. “But... I am glad I came.”

Diana leaves Esther’s house half an hour later, after making a promise to write to Steve’s mother when she can. Diana misses her own mother terribly, but there is something comforting about Esther’s gentle nature. Diana thinks that it would be nice to have someone to go to when she needs advice, now that Hippolyta’s company is forever denied her. And maybe, for Esther, contact with Diana is one last method of maintaining a connection with the son she lost.

Diana is not at peace, but a piece of the burden she carries is gone, leaving her feeling that little bit lighter.

* * *

Slowly, Diana learns guile.

She sees Ares employ it against everyone he meets, combined with a disarming charm that puts everyone at ease. She sees Ares twist people around his fingers, as easily as breathing, and Diana knows that if she is to stop Ares orchestrating another of humanity’s attempts at self-destruction, then she must learn to be at least as good at it as he is.

So she learns. She learns all she can about the arts of diplomacy, of saying one thing but implying another, of giving promises of little substance, of telling the truth so that it sounds like whatever the listener wishes to hear. She learns how to smooth ruffled feathers with silver words, of blunting sharp edges with soothing talk.

Diana is very bad at it, at first. She has always been honest, forthright; deception does not come naturally to her. And yet, it is Ares’ main weapon, and so she must learn.

Ares, of course, notices.

“You’re getting better,” he says, after watching one of Diana’s attempts at diplomatic manoeuvring go well. 

Diana looks at him, because the note in his voice sounded almost like pride. 

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, Diana. Do you think I lack the capacity to be proud that my little sister is following in my footsteps?”

Diana doesn’t recoil, but only because she is learning not to be obvious in her reactions.

“I will not turn on humanity,” she says.

Ares looks at her, long and thoughtful.

“Perhaps not yet,” he concedes, and then smiles. “But you will find, my dear, that much may change in a lifetime, and the life of a god is very long indeed. Don’t worry: I have great hopes for you.”

The worst thing is that Diana believes that he means exactly what he says. She is beginning to understand that to Ares, she is not merely the one who took away his powers. She is the greatest of the gods, who succeeded when all others fell before Ares’ sword. She is a new generation of god, the legacy of the old.

And Ares hopes that she will be his legacy, more than any other.


	2. World War II: beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of the Holocaust in this chapter, but it isn't really written about much. Thought I should warn you about that all the same. (Also, mentions of moderate consumption of alcohol.)
> 
> This chapter does, however, have dead people in it. More details at the end of chapter notes for those who want to know.

** Chapter Two **

Twenty-one years after the end of the Great War, Britain and France declare war on Germany.

Diana excuses herself from the meeting she’s in as soon as she gets the chance, and goes to sit in an empty room no one else is using.

Ares finds her there, a little while later, and he holds out a glass of spirits.

“I am truly sorry, Diana,” he says, and looks like he means it. “I know how disillusioning this must be for you.”

Diana takes the glass from him. She tosses back the whisky in one swallow, feeling the smooth burn of the alcohol as it slips down her throat.

The thing is, Diana knew this was coming. Hitler has been annexing and conquering other countries left and right, and someone has to stop him. Germany was left in dire straits after the signing of the Treaty of Versailles, and according to the intelligence received by the Secret Intelligence Service, large numbers of the German people seem to support Hitler’s attempts to claw back what Germany lost due to the treaty. Logically, Diana knows why this is the case. But the fact that it’s come to open warfare makes her feel sick to her stomach.

“It’s been twenty-one years,” says Diana. “ _Twenty-one_. How can they want to go to war when they still remember the horrors of the last war?”

“You know why,” says Ares.

Diana does. But that doesn’t mean she _understands_.

Intellectual knowledge is very different from understanding something deep in your heart. Diana will never understand, having seen the worst of what it can bring, why humanity still believes that war is a solution to anything. 

“Just because they have logical reasons for war doesn’t make it right, or worthwhile,” Diana says.

Ares sits down in the chair beside hers. He is an old man, now, but his mind is still as sharp as ever, and he still runs the SIS as well as he ever did.

Diana understands him so much better than she used to.

“Would you rather Hitler conquered the world unopposed?” Ares asks.

“Of course not, I...” Diana bites her lip. “I wish there was another way to make him stop.”

“As long as men like him exist, there will be war. It doesn’t matter how much everyone else longs for peace,” says Ares.

Diana knows in her heart that Ares speaks the truth. To her, he always does.

“Do you have any more of that whiskey?” Diana asks.

Ares holds out the bottle.

“Glenlivet, 1920. I was saving it for a special occasion. But I suppose another war warrants opening it.”

Diana takes the bottle, pours out another glass of scotch.

She and Ares sit there in silence, as elsewhere, all hell breaks loose.

* * *

Diana is more than Are’s secretary, these days. Officially, on paper, that’s still her job – but in practice...

In practice, Diana has taken on all the business that Ares is not young and spry enough to control anymore. She’s more of a second-in-command by now than a secretary. Some of the men resent that a woman has such a position, but Diana has been taking on more and more work from Ares for a very long time now, and most of the male operatives know better than to complain about her where anyone can hear them.

Diana reads intelligence reports and summarises them to Ares, makes decisions for him when he is busy with equally important matters, and gives direction to various operatives. The SIS is busier than ever, and will no doubt expand as the war goes on. It is information which wins a war as much as the fighting, tactics as well as violence, and the SIS is crucial to the war effort. 

Sometimes, Diana wonders what her Mother would think of her now, directing people like chess pieces from afar, just as Ares does. Diana hates it, but she has also come to understand its necessity. 

So Diana stays in Britain as the war progresses, and does her best to win the war this way.

But intelligence begins creeping in, of the systematic slaughter of anyone that Hitler deems inferior or a nuisance. The Jewish people are by far the most targeted, but they are not the only ones: he is also targeting those who are inclined towards their own sex rather than the opposite one, the Romani people, the disabled, and members of the clergy.

Diana reads the reports through twice, just to be thorough. Her blood runs cold.

She goes to Ares.

“I am going on leave,” she says. “Indefinitely.”

“I presume that by ‘indefinitely,’ you mean until the war is over,” says Ares. He looks unsurprised. “I wondered how long it would be before you grew tired of trying to end the war from behind a desk.”

“You will arrange all the necessary papers, of course,” says Diana.

“My dear, I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you,” says Ares. “Consider it done. I do, however, have one question. Why now?”

Diana has anticipated the question. She throws down one of the reports she was reading onto Ares’ desk.

“This is why,” she says. “I leave as soon as possible. Have everything ready for me to go by tomorrow morning.”

“I would say ‘be careful’,” says Ares, “but we both know there isn’t a force on this Earth that can stop you.”

“The sentiment is appreciated,” says Diana.

Sometimes Diana almost forgets, after all this time, that the clever, subtle man she deals with was once the God of War. Other times, Ares speaks with such breadth of experience that it makes Diana feel incredibly young. And at other times again, Ares speaks of the things they have both put behind them, and Diana cannot help but be reminded that Ares was _War_. That once upon a time, he killed every other god in existence.

Before she can leave his office, Ares speaks.

“You’ve never been to Olympus, have you?”

Caught off-guard, Diana looks at Ares.

“Olympus?” She knows that he refers to the dwelling-place of the gods, but why is he bringing it up in conversation?

“Olympus. The realm of the gods,” Ares says. “Believed to be situated upon a mountain-top by the mortals. Actually, Olympus resided in another dimension, one residing parallel to Earth.” Ares smiles on of his wry smiles. “I believe that you should go there. See it for yourself.”

“Why?” Diana asks, because Ares never suggests anything without a reason, no matter how obscure.

Ares looks down at his cane for a moment. When he looks up, his expression is solemn.

“You’re the last of the gods, Diana. The newest, and the last. You should know your heritage – whatever’s left of it. I haven’t been back there since the last great battle with Zeus, I’m afraid, but I doubt much survived the battle.”

“Why should I go?” asks Diana. “If Olympus is in ruins?”

Ares’ solemn expression undergoes a subtle alteration.

“Because those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it,” he says, and there is no mistaking the warning in his voice. “Go, Diana. See what the greatness of the gods led to, and learn from what you see.”

Diana says, “I will think about it.”

Of course she goes.

The doorway to Olympus is at the top of the mountain of the same name. It is hidden from mortal eyes, but Diana sees it, as clear and bright as day. She steps forward, and leaves Earth behind.

Diana finds herself on another mountaintop, far vaster than the one she left behind. The sun is bigger here than it appears from Earth, and Diana immediately feels its heat. She shrugs off her jacket and ties it around her waist, leaving her arms free in case of danger.

All around her are the smashed and dilapidated remains of white marble structures – buildings, once upon a time, before the war between Ares and the other gods.

Diana begins to walk, looking at everything around her.

Wherever she goes, the evidence that once the gods lived in this place is broken and ancient. Nothing stirs save for the occasional scuttling field-mouse or bird on the wing. Diana finds what were once vineyards, now overrun and wild. Plants have covered the white marble of the nearest buildings, strangling and fragmenting it even further than before. Grass and weeds grow inside the halls and domes that are left behind. What little remains is covered in the dirt and grime of ages passed.

And then there are the bodies.

Diana had assumed that after all this time, evidence of the bloody war which took place would have disappeared. But the remains of the gods who fell lie here still, slowly breaking down to feed the plants around them.

There are so many.

Their swords and armour still shine bright, remnants of divine power hiding within those objects still, but the gods’ bodies are nothing more than skeletons. In some cases, barely enough of them is left to identify them as having once been people.

Diana knew that Ares had slaughtered every god in existence, but finding what is left of them brings the reality of his actions home to her.

Here is her family, the one she has never known. Ares killed them all. For the first time, Diana understands what she has lost.

She was never meant to be the only god in existence. Ares stole any other possibility from her.

Diana does not know how to feel about that.

A sword is not a good tool for digging, but Diana picks one up from where it lies abandoned, and begins to cut through the grass and plant matter. Then she begins to dig. 

She doesn’t know how long it takes her to dig every single grave, to find the remains of every god and goddess in Olympus. But eventually, there is only one left.

From what is left of him, he was a solidly-built god, tall and broad. His sword and shield are still perfect, untouched, unlike their owner. A rotting cloak still clings to the remains, pinned in place by a tarnished cloak-pin decorated with a stylized thunderbolt.

Diana kneels, and stares down at what is left of her father.

With careful hands, she undoes the cloak-pin, slipping it into a pocket. Then she buries Zeus, just as she has buried all the others.

By the time she returns to Earth and then England it is late at night, several days later. Diana bangs on Ares’ door until it is opened by his housekeeper.

“Miss, what on earth are you doing abroad at this time of night?” the woman exclaims. “Sir Patrick –”

“Is still awake,” a tired voice interrupts, and Ares limps into the hall. “Thank you, Mrs Smith. My apologies, but I suspect that Diana’s business with me is rather urgent.”

Ares’ housekeeper grumbles, but makes her way back to bed.

“I think we should have this conversation in the study, don’t you?” says Ares. Diana says nothing, but Ares begins walking back the way he came. Diana follows.

Only when Ares has seated himself near the empty fireplace does Diana speak.

“You killed all of them.”

“Diana, that is ancient history,” Ares chides. “Quite literally, in fact.”

“ _All of them_ ,” Diana insists, refusing to let the matter go. “There were so many of them, and you killed them all.”

“Do you expect me to say that I’m sorry?” asked Ares, in a burst of temper. “Do you think I don’t have my regrets? That I don’t wish that things had turned out differently? But I made my choice, and there is no going back. Mankind–”

“You are just as bad as they are, for your first choice is always destruction,” says Diana.

Ares outright laughs. Diana doesn’t understand why.

“My first choice? You think that this was my first choice? Diana, I exhausted every other avenue before I took this path. I tried to reason with them – all of them. But they could not see what I saw. None of them would aid me. And our father – he threatened to have me banished from Olympus if I did not leave his precious, flawed creations alone. He chose humanity, Diana. They all did.”

“So you declared war against the gods?” 

Ares shakes his head slowly.

“No, Diana. Zeus declared war against _me_.” 

While Diana is absorbing that, Ares adds, “I suspect that he thought it would be far easier to destroy me than events proved. No one realised how much my power had grown. But can you imagine what it meant to know that my father, my brothers, my sisters – all of them had turned against me for the sake of beings which were fundamentally evil and flawed?” 

Ares’ voice is filled with pain. 

“My own father, Diana. He would have killed me, for the sake of his creations. His own son!” Ares pauses for a moment to compose himself. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, although no less bitter. “And he almost managed it, in the end. I was left injured and weak – too weak to destroy mankind, the reason for the dissension amongst the gods and for their eventual downfall.”

Diana doesn’t know what to say to that. She fumbles at the pocket of her skirt, and pulls out Zeus’ cloak-pin. She holds it out towards Ares, whose attention is riveted on the small item.

“Is that...?”

“It belonged to Zeus, didn’t it?” says Diana. “I found him, along with all the others. Dead and rotting, nothing left of them but bones. You killed our father, Ares. Just as you killed all the others. I will never know him, now, because of you.”

Ares stares at the cloak-pin for a long moment. Then he says, his voice not entirely steady: “Perhaps you should be grateful for that.”

“No,” says Diana. “Because it was not my choice. And I cannot be grateful to you for taking that choice away from me.”

She tucks the cloak-pin back into her pocket.

“I assume that you will be leaving in the morning,” says Ares. Diana does not object to the change in subject. On Ares’ murder of the gods, what more can be said?

“Yes.”

Ares sighs, and reaches for a satchel sitting on the small table next to his chair.

“I have all your necessary papers prepared. One of them, incidentally, is signed by the Prime Minister himself, giving you permission to requisition equipment and command troops as required. It took quite some finagling.” Ares is quiet for a moment. “You must understand, Diana, that I never wanted any of this. Not this way. I would have given them a clean death, if I could.”

“People have the right to live free of war,” says Diana. “In peace and harmony. And I believe that one day, they will learn how to achieve it.”

“There is no teaching them, Diana.” But Ares’ voice is gentle, even sad. “One day, you will learn this lesson, just as I have.”

“I will not,” says Diana. She takes the satchel from him. “And as long as I draw breath, I will never turn against them.”

“Never say never, my dear.” 

Diana does not dignify that response with an answer. Nor does she say goodbye. Instead, she leaves the study and lets herself out of Ares’ house.

She has a war to end.

* * *

Diana knows immediately that she is dreaming.

“You’re dead,” she tells Steve.

Steve smiles a crooked little smile that isn’t really amused at all.

“Yeah, I am. But, uh, a guy claiming to be Hades, Lord of the Underworld gave me the chance to talk to you.”

“Hades is also dead.”

Steve shrugs, makes a ‘so-so’ gesture.

“Yeah, well, it turns out that when you’re God of the Underworld, being dead is, uh, a little different.” The expression on his face says that Steve is as bemused and baffled by this as anyone.

“You are telling me that this is not a dream.”

“Oh, it’s a dream,” says Steve. “It’s just... not only a dream, you know?” He runs a hand through his hair. “What am I even talking about, I have no idea.” He shakes his head, and then focuses back on the conversation. “Anyway, the point is, I’m _here_ , don’t worry about the how.”

Diana feels her eyes fill with tears. Dream or not, this feels so real. Diana had almost forgotten Steve’s... _Steve-ness_ , but here he is, larger than life, filling Diana’s heart with joy and heartbreak in equal measure.

“I love you,” she tells Steve. “I wish I had been given the opportunity to tell you.”

“I know, sweetheart. But things... things don’t always work out the way we want them to.” Steve looks at her like a thirsting man staring at an oasis, drinking her in, but then he steels himself. “I’m here for a reason.”

Diana’s heart, already bruised, hurts even more.

“What reason?”

“What you plan to do,” says Steve. “You’re going to find... unimaginable horrors. Things no decent human being would do to another, done in the name of science and eugenics. It’s going to make you wonder what you’re fighting for, and why you even bother.”

Steve steps forward, and takes Diana’s face in his hands. They’re warm and calloused, just as Diana remembers. 

“But you’re on the right path, Diana,” says Steve, his voice low and full of conviction. “Humanity is not irredeemable, no matter what evidence you might see out there to the contrary. You can save us. It will take time – but even at your darkest point you will find people who are good, and kind, and selfless. You will find them, Diana, you just have to look for them. And they will do their best to help you.”

Steve kisses her then, full of urgency, and Diana returns the kiss desperately before Steve steps back. His eyes never leave hers.

“Remember, Diana,” he says. “The darkest hour is always before the dawn.”

And Diana jerks awake.

Reaching up to touch her own face, she finds it wet with tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diana goes to Olympus, and finds the remains of the dead gods Ares killed. She also has a dream about Steve.


	3. World War II: endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had real trouble with this chapter. More mentions of the Holocaust, but nothing too graphic.

** Chapter Three **

Diana fights battle after battle.

Word of her presence soon gets around. First she is nothing more than a rumour, a story the troops tell – an avenging angel come down from Heaven to smite the wicked. Many laugh, and shake their heads, and dismiss it as a fairy story. But the rumours grow stronger, and individual details begin to appear: names, dates, places. A battle here, won with her help. People there, saved from the Germans.

Then the newspapers get hold of the story. Eventually, a war photographer even gets a photograph of Diana in her armour and with her shield and sword, in the midst of battle. One of the journalists following the troops interviews as many people as he can about her presence, and hears of impossible feats.

He dubs her Wonder Woman, the super-human hero of the war, and sends an article back to newspaper headquarters in Britain. 

Before long every newspaper in Britain and France, not to mention America, is running stories of her heroism and indomitable will in the face of terrible odds. 

Diana herself is unaware of the propaganda machine using her as a figurehead, at least at first. But she is aware that wherever she goes she spreads hope, and the people she meets begin to think that perhaps in their darkest hour, they have been sent a miracle.

Finally, one of the journalists catches up to her.

Diana is sitting in a tent not far from the front lines, drinking a terrible cup of tea when there is a shout from outside of, “Hey, you can’t go in there!” 

A second later a woman with the war correspondents’ ‘C’ emblazoned on her arm walks into the tent. She smiles at Diana. Two soldiers burst into the tent, and one of them grabs the woman by the arm.

“Lady–” he begins, and yelps as the woman jabs him with a hatpin.

The woman shakes him off, and strides forward to offer a hand to a bemused Diana.

“Wonder Woman, what an honour. Stella Winwood, at your service. Correspondent for the _New York Times._ ” 

“Miss,” one of the soldiers begins, “you can’t–”

“Let her stay,” Diana says.

They glance at Diana.

“But–”

“ _I_ _said_ , let her stay,” Diana repeats. The soldiers exchange helpless glances.

“As you wish, ma’am,” one of them says, and they retreat from the tent.

Diana looks back at the woman in front of her. She doesn’t look a day older than thirty but behind the smile and the determination, her eyes tell Diana everything she needs to know. This woman has seen the horrors that war has to offer.

“Miss Winwood,” Diana murmurs, and then, “It is _Miss_ Winwood, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Take a seat.” Diana gestures to the chair beside her own.

Stella Winwood sits, and looks at Diana with unabashed curiosity. 

“Wonder Woman,” she says again. “I must say, I was beginning to think I’d never get to meet you. You move fast.”

“There is a lot to be done.”

“And you’ve done it all,” says Stella, with a nod. “Some say you’ve won more battles in this war than any general.”

“That is very kind of them to say,” Diana says, neither confirming nor disagreeing with Stella’s words.

“I don’t think ‘kind’ is the right word,” says Stella. “What you have accomplished is nothing short of phenomenal. Then there are the abilities you are said to have – deflecting bullets, leaping a dozen feet in a single bound, an unparalleled ability with a sword... The public has to know. Who _are_ you?”

Diana smiles.

“I think that the public will have to wait a little longer on that one, Miss Winwood.”

Stella is not deterred.

“How did you gain such tremendous powers? Are you the result of a secret military project, as the rumours claim?”

“I am not.” Diana sips at her tea, and makes a face. “Miss Winwood, a piece of advice: if someone offers you a cup of tea while you are here, do not drink it.”

“I’m more partial to coffee myself, but to be honest, the coffee rations the army has are pretty terrible,” says Stella, with a flash of humour. “Such are the hazards of the job.”

Stella gets out a battered notebook and a ballpoint pen, the kind the RAF use.

“Tell me, Wonder Woman. All the incredible things you have done. What motivates you?”

“The thought of the day when war ends forever,” says Diana.

Stella scribbles that down even as she raises an eyebrow.

“An ambitious goal, given the current circumstances.”

“I have time.”

Stella pauses, waiting for Diana to elaborate. Diana doesn’t.

“Where do you plan to go next?” Stella asks into the awkward silence.

“I am afraid that is a secret.”

Stella asks several more probing questions, all of which Diana deflects. She has learned a lot from Ares in that respect.

Finally, Stella has one last question.

“Do you have a sweetheart waiting for you, when the war is over?”

Diana thinks of Steve, and smiles, the expression bittersweet.

“I have not had a sweetheart in a long time, by the way your people measure time. My only love died during the Great War.”

Stella stops writing and stares at Diana, her eyebrows rising.

“Surely you’re not old enough,” Stella protests.

Diana smiles.

“I am far older than I look, Miss Winwood.” Diana puts her empty mug aside, and stands. “It was a pleasure to speak with you, but I have things I need to do. Good luck in your travels.”

She leaves Stella sitting on the seat in the tent, notebook still in hand, scribbling down notes.

* * *

‘Wonder Woman’ spends the last few months of the war in a refugee centre, helping the survivors of the Nazi concentration camps.

Diana liberated those camps herself. What she found there was like a nightmare, except that even in a nightmare Diana could not have imagined what she saw. After the first camp was liberated, after Diana had done all she could, she found a quiet corner and sat and wept for everything that mankind has proven willing to do to itself. It was the first time she sat and wept during this war, but it was not the last: with every death camp liberated, Diana wept for all the suffering and pain she had seen.

She cannot blame Ares, not this time. His power is gone. Everything that has happened is the result of evil in the hearts of men and women, who treated other people as less than human, as _things_. It is inconceivable, and yet evidence of it is all around Diana in the poor people who have survived this long, and who will be forever scarred, physically and emotionally, by what they have experienced.

For the first time, Diana’s resolve to save mankind from war is shaken. If humanity is capable of such depravity, horrors beyond imagining, is there any point in trying to save them?

It is only the gratitude she sees in the eyes of the men and women who have been saved that pushes Diana to continue. These poor people thought themselves doomed to suffer until their lives ran out; that someone came to save them means everything to them. They insist on thanking her, over and over again, and Diana tries to accept their thanks graciously, even though she knows she came too late. 

The thousands of bodies she saw, piled high, attest to that. 

In the midst of all this horror, Diana appreciates the kindness in the hearts of the men and women who are working at the refugee centre, trying to help those who have survived the horrors. They do their best to aid those who are suffering. They are good men and women, even as they are surrounded by evidence of the worst actions of the war. It is a comfort, in a place and time when there is so little comfort to be found.

Diana hears rumours that those who perpetuated the worst crimes during the war will undergo a trial by the Allied governments once the war officially ends. The Allies want to establish precedence in law for punishing people who perform crimes against humanity. Such unimaginable acts cannot be allowed to flourish, say those who tell her of the rumours. 

Diana hopes that the rumours are true.

* * *

Diana works at the refugee centres for several months before the message arrives. She reads it a number of times, barely able to believe what it says.

The next day, she leaves the refugee centres and joins the nearest transport headed for Britain, donning the outfit of a civilian over her armour. It is several days before she arrives back in London.

Diana knocks on Ares’ front door. It is opened by Mrs Smith.

“He’ll want to see you,” the housekeeper says.

Ares has never looked so old, so ill.

“You... came,” Ares rasps from his bed. Diana goes to him.

“Of course I came,” she says. “The message said that you were dying.” She does not mention the talk she had with his doctor before coming upstairs, the grim prognosis that the man gave. She doesn’t need to. Ares already knows.

“I am,” says Ares. “Mortality is... catching... up with me... at last.”

“The doctor said that you have had this condition of yours for a long time,” says Diana. “The cough you’ve had for years... it wasn’t just a cough, was it?”

Ares smiles wanly.

“I did... not... wish to... worry you,” he says. “How... goes... your... liberation of... the... camps?”

“It goes well,” says Diana. “We believe that we have liberated them all.”

Ares reaches out with a feeble hand, and Diana takes it. 

“I know... we have.... disagreed... on... many... points.” Ares can barely breathe, let alone speak. Diana squeezes his hand. “But... sister... I hope... for your sake... humanity is... what you... believe. Even if... I fear... it... is... not.”

“Thank you, brother.” Diana looks down at him. “And I hope... wherever gods go, after death, I hope that you finally find peace there.”

Ares gives a wheezing chuckle.

“I... doubt... it.”

He falls silent then. Diana sits with him for a long time.

Ares dies on the 8th of May, 1945. There is peace in the world – for now. But humanity still has a long way to go.

* * *

For the first time in her life, Diana is alone.

Always there has been someone else for her to return to: her Mother, her aunt; Steve; even Ares, in his own way, was there for Diana. But now that Ares is gone, there is no one left who knows the truth of who and what Diana is. It is a very lonely feeling.

Ares’ funeral is on a Tuesday. It is a damp, dreary day, and Diana’s mood is subdued as she walks into the church. The service itself is small and private: few people knew what ‘Sir Patrick’ actually did for a living, and even fewer can afford to admit that they knew him.

Ares is buried with a sixpence in his mouth: it is not an ancient Greek _obol_ , but hopefully it will be fare enough to take him on his journey across the Acheron to the Underworld. Diana had to argue with the undertaker to make sure that he was buried with the coin, even though there are still people, even here in 20th century England, who wish to bury their dead with currency for the afterlife. 

Diana sits through the funeral service with its strange traditions and references to the Christian God, taking note of the tiny group of other people there, and thinks of how much the world has changed in Ares’ lifetime. Afterwards, she exchanges polite words with the other people attending the service, before returning to her tiny flat.

She was gone for two years, and yet everything is as she left it, thanks to Ares paying her rent while she was gone. It was a kind act, and Diana can’t help but think of the contradictions inherent in Ares: that he was both capable of kindness and focused on such utter destruction. Diana wishes that she could have known him before mankind was created, before poison took its place in Ares’ heart. She wishes that she could have known the god he once was, untouched by bitterness and violent intentions.

Diana misses him enormously.

Ares has left Diana everything he owns: his house in London, his country estate, every possession and piece of wealth he accumulated as Sir Patrick. Diana is aware that it has set people talking, but with no family or heirs, there is no one to object to Diana inheriting all her brother’s worldly goods.

In the wake of Sir Patrick’s death, Diana’s employers are not entirely surprised when Diana resigns. She was, after all, his loyal secretary and unofficial second-in-command for many years, even if she was away on indefinite leave for the past two years. They do not connect her face to that of Wonder Woman, just as they have not noticed that Diana has not aged a day in the past twenty-seven years. Diana has access to enough of her godly power for that much, even if most of her power remains a mystery.

As the soldiers return to England from abroad, and life begins to move on now that the war is over, Diana does not know what to do. She is haunted still by everything she saw during the Second World War, particularly in the death camps. She reads the newspaper every day, following the stories about the refugee camps and the Allied governments’ plans for war crime trials.

Sometimes she visits Ares’ grave, and speaks to his headstone.

“Maybe you were right,” Diana says. 

It is not something she ever would have admitted to Ares in person: he would have pounced on the admission, and tried to use it to sway her to his cause. But there is a lot she can admit to, now that he is not here to hear it.

“Maybe they are inherently evil and flawed. And yet, if that is so, they are also inherently good. I have seen both sides of their nature. How can any people be so capable of both good and evil? Just when I think I have mankind’s measure, they do something else which astounds or horrifies me.”

Diana sighs.

“I understand that you saw that same capacity for evil that I have seen, even if I cannot condone how you reacted to that knowledge. I cannot believe that violence is the ultimate answer, the only way to solve a problem. And yet, the other avenues have not revealed themselves to me.”

Diana stands in silence for a moment, looking down at the headstone. The English inscription is everything that is proper. It proclaims that here lies Sir Patrick Morgan, 1870–1945, and beneath the dates indicating his birth and death there is a bible verse: Matthew 10:34, _“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.”_ Only Diana understands how apt the quotation is.

Beneath the English inscription, however, is one written in Greek. It simply says: _Here lies Ares, God-Killer, and the last of the old gods_.

Diana could think of no more fitting epitaph than the simple truth.

“I think that I should leave England,” says Diana. “Go somewhere else. Start over. There are too many memories here. Besides, I still think London is hideous.” Her lips quirk for a moment, but the moment of levity fades almost immediately. “I’ve been thinking of going to America. Maybe I can find what I’m looking for there.” Diana stays there, looking down at the headstone. Then she says, “Goodbye, brother.”

She doesn’t look back.

* * *

Diana sells Ares’ house in London and his country estate. She includes the furniture and furnishings as part of the sale. Both the London house and the country estate are bought by an American millionaire: there are few people left in Britain who have the money to pay what the two properties are worth. 

Working with Ares’ housekeeper and members of the household staff, Diana slowly goes through Ares’ things. His clothing, good-quality and of expensive make, Diana donates to the poor. Of personal possessions there are relatively few. He possesses – possessed, Diana reminds herself, because Ares is gone – no photographs of loved ones, no sentimental trinkets. 

But then Diana finds the chest in his wardrobe, and knows instinctively that whatever is inside, it is not for mortal eyes. She sends Ares’ housekeeper away and shuts the bedroom door before she opens the chest.

Inside, resting on a blanket, are a shield and a sword still covered in the rust-like stains of old blood. Diana knows immediately that these were the tools Ares used to slaughter the other gods, his family. These weapons yet carry a trace of Ares’ power, dark and tainted with rage and pain. 

She slams the chest shut for a moment. Breathes.

Then she opens it again.

She doesn’t touch the weapons, but gazes down at them. Of all the things Ares has left behind, these are most truly his; they alone cannot be sold or given away. 

When Diana leaves England behind, she takes only a few things with her besides her suitcase and train case. Of the personal items she possesses, she hold onto only four things: Steve’s watch; a framed photograph of him which Esther sent Diana before Esther too passed away; a photograph of Ares and Diana, standing and smiling at a private dinner party hosted by one of the SIS; and the chest with Ares’ weapons inside. 

It takes twelve days to make the crossing from England to America. Diana sleeps badly every night, her rest interrupted by nightmares. She dreams of soldiers dead and maimed, of civilians caught in the cross-fire, and most of all, she dreams of the death camps.

“ _No, no, no, no_ –” Diana wakes to find herself mumbling those words every night, denial of all she has seen on her lips – and yet her mind forces her to re-live those experiences whenever she slumbers. She wakes shaking, trembling, and wonders what happened to her famous strength. That which carried her through two World Wars has deserted her, leaving her with a wounded heart it seems nothing can fix.

It makes things worse, knowing that she is alone with no one to turn to any longer.

Diana wonders how she is supposed to go on, alone, in the face of all the world's horrors.

There is no one there to give her an answer. 


	4. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a f/f relationship, because bisexual Wonder Woman is awesome.

** Chapter Four **

Step by step, bit by bit, Diana heals enough to move on.

Healing comes in the little things. The laughter of an innocent child. A loving couple stepping out together, walking hand in hand and with joy in their eyes. A young man pausing to help an old woman cross the street.

But by far, the most important factor is _time_.

Slowly, Diana is reminded of all the good things in the world – of all the good in the _people_ of this world. Everyone around her is scarred, in one way or another, but like her, they are slowly getting on with their lives. 

Diana has no need to work, not with the money she inherited from Ares and what she received from the sale of his properties, but it is not in her nature to sit idle. She takes a job in the typing pool at one of the big newspapers. Her previous employer provided her with a written reference, before she left England; none of the details of Diana’s previous occupation are true except for Diana’s skills, which are many. To be truthful, Diana’s skills are far beyond that of a mere typist, but... where better to keep track of the waxing and waning of war than a newspaper?

Diana doesn’t find out until her first day at the newspaper that one of the journalists she will be typing for includes the _New York Times’_ best war correspondent, now pursuing stories back home – the household name, Stella Winwood. 

Stella bursts in and begins ordering Diana around without bothering to introduce herself. Halfway through a long list of tasks for Diana to complete, however, Stella’s words slow, and she pauses to stare at Diana with a crinkle between her brows, as though finally noticing her as a person.

“Say, have we met before?”

“Once,” says Diana, quickly hiding her surprise. “But it was some time ago, and our meeting was... of little importance.”

“I thought you looked familiar,” Stella says, and the crinkle smooths out, although she is still looking at Diana with keen eyes that see more than they should. “Where’d we meet?”

Diana is not above fudging the truth a little in order to keep her cover.

“We met during the war. You were rather busy, at the time. I am surprised that you remember me at all.” 

That last line, at least, is all truth: no one should be able to connect ordinary _Diana Prince_ to the extraordinary war hero _Wonder Woman_. It is worrisome that Stella has made enough of a connection to feel that niggling sense of familiarity upon meeting Diana.

“I guess you’ve got a memorable face,” Stella jokes, with a smile. “Well, welcome to the _New York Times,_ Miss...?”

“Diana Prince,” says Diana, taking the offered hand and shaking it. Stella smiles, and holds Diana’s hand a little too long, and Diana thinks, _oh_.

Women loving women on Paradise Island had been commonplace: Diana had never thought anything of it, until she had entered Man’s World and slowly discovered that here, women loving women and men loving men was forbidden. It still happened, of course; Diana had met a number of female ‘inverts’ during the second war, taking on jobs that had previously been the province of men alone. But they were forced to keep their love secret, to hide it from the world.

Diana had thought it was tremendously unfair. But it hasn’t personally affected her until now.

As Stella smiles, and finally lets go of Diana’s hand, Diana isn’t sure what to do.

It’s been nearly twenty-eight years since Steve died. Diana is a different person from who she was then, and Steve’s memory, though dear as ever, has faded around the edges. It no longer hurts as much to think of him, just as Ares predicted, although there is still an ache in Diana’s heart that will never quite go away.

As Diana looks into Stella’s face, she feels a flicker of interest she hasn’t felt for a long time.

“It’s good to meet you,” says Stella, and then adds, “now, the editor needs my article for tonight’s print run, so if you could be a dear and get it done...?”

“I will,” says Diana, and she watches Stella go. Their eyes hold for a moment, and then Stella turns and vanishes through the open doorway.

Diana gets to work.

In the days that follow, Diana watches Stella closely. The woman’s eyes still give away the horrors she has seen in her lifetime, serving as a war correspondent, but... Stella is briskly cheerful and no-nonsense, fiercely independent, and very vocal when anyone treats her differently from her male co-workers.

One evening, as Stella is yet again the last to leave the crowded office she shares with the other ‘star’ reporters, Diana loiters in the doorway. Stella turns, sensing Diana’s gaze.

“Can I help you with something?”

Diana steps forward.

“I have a question.” She waits for Stella’s expectant nod. “I... after everything that you saw during the war, how do you move on? How do you forget what horrors mankind has proven willing to do to one another?”

Stella’s expression changes.

“Oh, honey,” she says, her expression torn between pity and wry amusement. “It’s not that simple. You think I’m ever going to forget the things I saw during the war? Excuse my language, but hell no. Of course I can’t forget. You think it doesn’t eat me up at night? But in the end, trying to move on is the only thing any of us can do.”

“But how?” Diana persists. “Every night, I have nightmares –”

“Join the club,” Stella interrupts, and her expression is kind, even if her words are not. “Look – I know that the war was terrible and the memories will haunt us all forever. Believe me, I _know_. But this is a good world, full of good people, and you need to hang onto that, even when it’s hard to remember.” 

Stella locks her desk and picks up her purse before turning back to Diana.

“So,” she says. “How do you feel about getting a drink?”

The two of them go to a bar downtown. It’s in a seedy kind of neighbourhood, the kind of place the cops don’t patrol too closely. Diana follows Stella inside.

The first thing Diana notices is that the clientele appears to be all women. Some of them are dressed in masculine clothing, others in more feminine attire, and they send Diana suspicious glances as she enters with Stella.

Stella takes a seat at the bar and orders a drink. Diana does the same, looking around her at the many women inside the bar.

Diana has missed the company of other women. For so long she was surrounded by spies and then by soldiers, most of them men. The other typists in the typing pool where Diana currently works are all women, but they’re all too busy to talk much. Diana misses her days on Themyscira, where she got along with every Amazon on Paradise Island. 

They had all been so much older than she was, which prevented her from having any particular friends or romantic relationships with any of them; the only one who didn’t treat her like a child even once she was grown was Diana’s aunt, Antiope, who expected more of her than anyone else ever had. But their presence had been warm and welcoming, and free from the conflict and strife that plagued the outer world.

Diana has thought of visiting Paradise Island once or twice, even though she was banished to never again set foot on the island. But the thought of her Mother no longer recognising the person that Diana has become... it stops her from going back. Diana is no longer the callow, youthful maiden, innocent and headstrong. She is older, wiser; more cunning and less straightforward than she used to be. Most of all, there is a darkness in her where once there was only light. Diana is terrified that her Mother will sense that darkness, and reject her for it. Besides which, the rules of Paradise Island are very clear: once anyone leaves the island, they may never return. Diana does not want to make her Mother choose between law and duty.

“What did you do in the war, anyway?” Stella asks, breaking the silence.

Diana shakes her head. 

“Nothing I can talk about,” she says. Stella snorts.

“Classified, huh? Yeah, I saw my fair share of that. Your accent, though – it’s not American. British?”

“For a while,” says Diana. “I was from Greece, originally. But my brother lived in England, so...” Diana shrugs. “He was all that I had left. Moving to London seemed the best choice, even if I thought it was hideous there. All that smog and dirt, and everything was grey.”

Stella laughs.

“As though New York is much better!”

Diana shrugs again, because that’s true. But somehow, New York is different.

“Tell me,” says Stella, leaning close. “What made you say yes to getting this drink?”

Diana smiles, and leans in closer as well.

“How could I say no to such a charming offer?” she says.

Stella grins. Diana smiles back.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s the beginning of something.

* * *

That night, Diana dreams of Steve. 

“Hi,” he says, and smiles. This time he isn’t wearing the stolen uniform he died in. Instead, he’s wearing a fancy suit.

“ _Steve_ ,” says Diana.

“Like what you see?” asks Steve, grinning. Diana glares at him, half _of course_ and half _this isn’t the time_ , and he holds up his hands. “Alright, I know, not the time for levity. Still, it’s a nice suit, don’t you think?”

“You look nice in anything,” says Diana.

Steve looks pleased.

“Thanks,” he says. “But, uh, I didn’t come here to talk about the suit. Obviously.”

“Then what did you come to talk about?”

Steve’s face does a funny thing, and he says, “Stella Winwood.”

Diana feels her expression change, and Steve is immediately there, taking hold of her elbow and trying to meet her eyes even though Diana is trying to turn her face away from him.

“Hey, hey,” Steve is saying, ducking his head to make eye-contact. “Hey. I’m not – I’m not mad, Diana. It’s been decades, and for what? A love that lasted a few days? Don’t get me wrong, we had something good going there. And maybe it could have been great, even, if I’d lived. But it’s been decades since I died, and you’re still alone, and that’s...” He pauses. “That’s not right.”

Diana finally looks at him. His smile is sad, but sincere.

“I’m just glad you’re moving on. I mean, yes, of course I’m sad about it, but mostly I’m sad that I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me.” Steve cups Diana’s jaw with one hand, searching her eyes for understanding. “But Stella – she seems like a good person, and someone who could understand a lot of what you’ve been going through. You could be good for each other.”

“But I don’t want to let you go,” says Diana, clutching at Steve. “Steve–”

“Diana,” Steve says, his voice soft, his expression tender, “when the time comes, I’ll be waiting for you. Of course I will. But until then, you need to _live_. Go ahead. Fall in love. Adopt some orphans, maybe – I don’t know, it’s up to you what you do. But don’t be afraid to – damn, am I really saying this? – don’t be afraid to love. Got it?”

Steve is so close, and Diana can smell the combination of the army-issue soap and the cheap aftershave he used to use.

“I miss you,” she says. “So much.”

“Hey,” says Steve. “Me too. I miss you too, I mean. You know that, right?”

Diana smiles a little through the tears.

“I know.”

“Goodbye, Diana,” says Steve, his expression turning sombre, and Diana knows, somehow, that this is the last time she will dream of him.

“I love you,” she says, and wakes to a dark and empty room.

* * *

As their relationship unfolds, Stella and Diana are forced to be careful.

During the war, a lot of people were willing to turn a blind eye to the activities of ‘inverts,’ as long as they were discreet. There was, after all, a war on, and more important things to care about. But now, society is cracking down on what it sees as deviancy. Any two people of the same sex who seems a little too close for friendship, their relationship too intimate to be anything other than that of lovers... they are regarded with suspicion, and it rarely ends well for them.

Diana doesn’t understand the prejudice. Surely, love is love, no matter what sex it is shown to? Love is something to be celebrated, not derided. After growing up in Themyscira, where women loving one another was part of everyday life, unremarkable and unremarked upon, the strength of the feeling some hold against those people who love their own sex seems... strange. Strange, and cruel, to make such individuals either hide their love and attraction, or live lives untouched by love altogether, lest the authorities come crashing down on them.

So Diana and Stella are careful. To outsiders, they are merely friends, if good ones; Stella flirts with men to keep up the ruse and declares that she is married to her work whenever a man tries to take things past mere flirtation. Diana tells people that the love of her life died in the war, without ever specifying precisely which war. People assume that she is still in mourning for the man she lost: while this is true enough – Diana thinks that some part of her will always mourn Steve – she is also moving on, and rediscovering what it means to be in love. 

It hurts that Diana cannot speak to anyone of her growing affection for Stella, of all the hundreds of little things about her that Diana holds dear. It hurts that she and Stella cannot hold hands in public, or call each other ‘sweetheart,’ and ‘love’ the way that other couples do. It hurts that Diana can never spend the night with Stella in case it sets the neighbours or the landlady talking. Whatever time they spend together in intimacy is swift and harried, silent and illicit, both of them aware that this source of joy is something that could easily lead them into ruin if anyone found out.

Diana would like to proclaim her love for Stella to everyone they meet, and damn anyone who thinks badly of them. There was a time when Diana would have done exactly that. But Diana could never do that to Stella, not now that she understands the consequences. Stella has too much to lose, and so does Diana, in her own way. So they keep up the pretence of friendship and talk about good-looking men whenever there are others around, and keep their visits to one another’s apartments short.

But it is worth it, for those brief moments that are theirs alone. It is worth it when Stella turns up the volume on the wireless in the evenings and the two of them dance to the music, laughing and smiling. It is worth it when Diana gazes into Stella’s eyes, and sees Stella looking back with a softness in her expression that no one else gets to see.

Diana just wishes that the price they have to pay wasn’t so heavy.

In the end, Diana and Stella only have a few years before Stella is gone again. This time it’s the Korean War. It’s not as big as the last war, but it is a war, nonetheless. And the paper needs a correspondent to cover it.

“Stay,” Diana pleads, as she watches Stella pack her suitcase.

“I can’t.” Stella’s tone is short. “You know me, Diana. I’m not one to sit at home, waiting for excitement to happen to me. I go find it.”

“ _Excitement?”_ Diana echoes. “Stella, this is a _war_. ‘Excitement’ is not the word I would use. People fighting, dying–”

“That’s my job, Diana,” Stella snaps, finally pausing to turn and look at Diana. “It’s the only thing I’m good at, so don’t you dare try and take it away from me. I wasn’t born to peacetime, Diana. I’m no good at it. But war? That I know how to deal with.”

“Maybe you could learn to be good at it,” Diana starts.

“I said _no_ , Diana. You’re not changing my mind.”

“I cannot believe that war is taking what I love from me, yet again.” Diana puts her hands to her temples. 

“Be realistic, Diana.” says Stella, going back to folding clothes to put in her suitcase. “Ours was no grand love affair. It was a tiny, withered thing, with barely enough time in the light to survive.”

“Was?”

“Was,” says Stella, her expression resolute. “I had a swell time with you, I won’t deny it, but that time of my life is over. My career–”

“But I _love_ you,” Diana protests. She crosses the distance between them, tries to take Stella’s face in her hands. “Stella, I love you, _listen_ to me–”

But Stella pushes Diana’s hands away, rejecting the embrace, and steps back.

“I think you should leave, Diana.” 

Diana has never heard her sound so cold before. Diana tries again.

“But Stella–”

“I hope you have a nice life,” says Stella. “Really. Now _go_.”

Diana finds herself standing on the street outside Stella’s building. Tears are rolling down her face. Diana brushes them away, but they are replaced almost immediately as new tears blur her vision.

Diana walks without much sense of where she is going. She bumps into people several times, apologises without so much as looking at them, unable to see for the tears.

Her heart feels like it’s breaking, all over again. Is this what it means, to be in love? Is love always doomed to end, sooner or later?

Diana remembers Steve’s words to her all those years ago on the topic of marriage –

_ ‘And do they?’ _ Diana had asked, when Steve had said that people promised to love and honour and cherish each other. Steve’s answer had been negative.

– and wonders if he was right not only about marriage, but about love in general.

* * *

Three months later, Diana receives a letter. The moment she sees the familiar sloping handwriting on the front, she tears open the envelope with shaking hands.

_ Dear Diana _ , Stella has written,

_ I’m sorry that my last words to you were so harsh. I have no excuse, except that I was afraid that you would talk me out of the course I was determined to take, and harshness seemed the only way to cut that conversation short. I couldn’t stay, not when this opportunity was being offered to me – had I stayed, I would have grown to resent you for talking me out of it, and I couldn’t do that to either of us. _

_ The truth is that I care about you as much as you do about me. But we have to be realistic in this world. Being idealistic gets you nowhere except disillusioned, in the end. Things don’t end happily for women like us. I know you lost a man in the last war, for all you don’t talk about him much. I know that you must know that love and loss so often go together. _

_ I meant it when I said that I don’t know what to do in peacetime. After all the time I spent in the war, I find myself aimless without it. War is a terrible thing, but at least I know I’m doing something useful, this way. Without journalists like those of us covering this war, the people would never know the truth of what goes on.  _

__

_ I know this must all seem so foreign to you: despite the things you’ve seen, I know that somehow you’ve remained... not innocent exactly, because no one can remain innocent after seeing the sights war has to offer. But you still cling to hope, to honour, to a higher purpose. I don’t have that, Diana, and I haven’t for a long time. My career is all that I have.  _

__

_ When this war ends, as I expect it one day will, if I’m still around then I hope to meet you for a drink someday. I don’t expect to resume our previous friendship; that is up to you. But I hope that you will think of me fondly, rather than with bitterness, after all the time that we have spent together. I will always think fondly of you. I hope that life brings you happiness. _

__

_ My fondest regards, _

__

_ Stella Winwood. _

Diana weeps anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone happen to know any good (internet if possible) resources on the Civil Rights Movement in America?


	5. Faith Reforged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those who pointed me towards some resources about the Civil Rights Movement and stuff.

** Chapter Five **

It is August 28, 1963. Diana marches.

She marches with hundreds of thousands of other people: black and white, old and young, they all march towards the Lincoln Memorial, each and every one of them showing their support for equality between peoples. They march to support the upcoming civil rights bill, which if it passes, will prevent discrimination based on race, colour, religion or national origin. 

Diana looks around her, at all the people who believe in this cause, and feels her heart swell with _hope_. Hope for the future, for the fate of humanity; hope that maybe all this time Diana has spent trying to make things better is actually _working_.

People turn and stare in wonder and delight as they catch sight of Diana, because today, she doesn’t march as Diana Prince; instead she marches in red and gold and blue, with Antiope’s circlet around her forehead, the Lasso of Hestia at her hip, striding forward with her shield on her arm like there is no force on Earth which can stop her. 

Wonder Woman marches with the crowd, her first public appearance in eighteen years, and her presence here is as symbolic as it is physical. The super-human hero, who appeared in the darkest of times and fought for peace and justice and an end to all war: her presence here is a benediction, and the people around her march with renewed fervour, a new determination.

Diana sees the flashes of photography in the crowd, and knows that news of her presence here will spread far and wide. But she pays the photographers no mind, and continues to march. Her presence here is a support, a gesture of what she thinks is right, an encouragement for those who march. But today is not about her. Today is about all those men and women and children who are not treated as equal, because of their race or the colour of their skin. Today is about moving forward – not about undoing the injustices of the past, for the past cannot be undone, but about making sure that those injustices cannot and will not ever happen again. 

As the crowd gathers around the Lincoln Memorial they fall silent, and listen. Diana is among them.

Up on the podium, Dr Martin Luther King Jr. speaks, his words sonorous and impassioned. He speaks of history, of the Emancipation Proclamation and the Declaration of Independence. He speaks of the disenfranchisement of black people, of the suffering and segregation and discrimination they still experience. 

He speaks of a dream: a dream wherein America lives out the true meaning of the creed, _‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.’_ A dream wherein black and white men, the sons of slaves and the sons of slave-owners, will be able to sit together at the table of brotherhood. A dream wherein black children and white children may join hands as sisters and brothers, a dream wherein people are judged not for the colour of their skin, but for the content of their character.

“I have a _dream_ today!” he shouts, and the crowd yell their approval as he continues to outline his dream.

His dream is so far from today’s conditions that it might as well be impossible: and yet, standing here today, in a crowd two hundred and fifty thousand strong, with this man sharing his vision for what yet might be, Diana finds herself believing that it might come true.

“And when this happens,” Dr Martin Luther King Jr. shouts to the crowd, who roar their endorsement of his dream, “and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when _all_ of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: _Free at last! Free at last Thank _God_ Almighty, we are free at last!_ ”

Diana is cheering along with the rest of them, and she hopes with all her heart that this dream might yet come true.

* * *

As the 1960s unspools into the 1970s, there are a lot more marches. 

For the first time, large numbers of people are turning against the necessity of war, refusing to buy into the stories of its honour and glory. A new generation has come of age, and they have looked at the damage which war has caused and ask, _why?_ Instead of willingly marching off to war, the way their parents and grandparents did, for duty and obligation and glory, they march against it – filling the streets with the sounds of protest.

Diana is torn. On the one hand – isn’t this exactly what she wanted? For humanity to see that war is unnecessary and to turn against it? And yet, on the other hand – there is _violence_ in these protestors. They see the soldiers as willing parts of the machinations of war rather than as victims of it, and are repulsed by them. Many of these protestors condemn those who fight, even condemn those who are forced to fight by law and circumstance – many of the conscripted hate this war just as much as those who demonstrate against it, and yet they are treated as though they fight gladly for the cause.

Diana has witnessed the horrors of war that these protestors speak of but have never seen. She knows that too often, the soldiers are merely pawns of the powerful. She has never forgotten the general she met during WWI who sent men to die without a qualm, simply telling her that ‘ _that is what soldiers do.’_ She knows, after all these years, that many senior people in the military still think this way.

Diana marches with the protestors, but she also advises others to be tolerant, to try and understand that those who fight in the war do not come out of it unscathed, despite what many seem to believe.

“Many of these men do not fight because they want to, but because the government has given them no choice,” says Diana. “Do not blame them. Blame the generals who fight from a distance, sending innocent men to slaughter and be slaughtered. There are good men amongst these soldiers, conscripted or fooled into fighting a war not their own. Do not confuse them with those who truly control this war.”

Some listen to her; many do not. They are young and hot-headed, full of idealism, so secure in self-righteousness that they cannot see the bigger picture. Soldiers are not the cause of war, only a symptom of it. It is the powerful who cause wars, and the soldiers are the ones they send to die for their ambitions.

To truly end war, all people must agree that it should end. But for that to happen, all people must be equal – for as long as there is inequality, as long as there is reason for ordinary people to think that war might make things better instead of worse, as long as there are people in power who have something to gain from the battles and the fighting – as long as all those circumstances exist, so will war.

It is not enough for humanity to say, _We have had enough_. To end war, society itself must change.

And yet... Diana thinks that the beginnings of this change have been sown.

Diana participates in other marches, too – marches against a different kind of war, one raged in peoples’ hearts and minds rather than on a battlefield. And yet its casualties are many.

For the first time, queer folk are fighting back _en masse_ against their cruel treatment by society, fighting for equality, just as so many other groups are. Diana is there for the Pride March in 1970, and resolves to attend any more that might follow.

“You’re braver than I am,” says Stella, when Diana drops by to see how she is doing, and tells Stell what she’s been up to. Stella is much older now, almost an old woman; the grey of her hair is concealed by dye, but nothing can conceal the age in Stella’s face, for all that she still stands straight and tall.

Diana smiles, but demurs.

“I am sure that is not true.”

“No, it is,” Stella insists. “You’ve always faced things. Me? Oh, I was brave enough under fire, but it was always the little things that scared me: intimacy, honesty; people finding out I wasn’t as straight as I pretended I was. I ran from those things, but you – you’ve always wanted to face them head-on.”

Diana looks at her.

“Stella,” she says. She and Stella have been friends for a very long time, by human standards – not lovers, not since Stella left for the Korean War, but the best of friends, all the same. It seems about time Diana told her the truth. “How long have we known each other?”

“Almost twenty-five years,” Stella says promptly.

“And how old am I?” Diana asks.

Stella opens her mouth to answer. Stops. Tries again. Pauses.

“Diana,” she finally says, slowly: “how is it that I remember meeting you twenty four years ago, and you still look exactly the same?”

“Do you remember when you interviewed Wonder Woman, back during the Second World War?” Diana asks. She knows that she must do this step-by-step, if Stella is to make the connection.

“Of course I do, it was the biggest scoop of my–” 

Stella stops. Frankly stares, as for the first time Diana’s powers allow her to put two and two together.

Then she lets out a string of curse-words that even in this day and age would make people blush.

Diana finds herself tensing, unsure of how Stella is about to react.

“Well, I’ll be,” Stella says at last. “Wonder Woman. Goodness gracious me. I’ll be damned.” She stares hard at Diana. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Diana relaxes, and smiles a little.

“I was not sure how you would react. And... I am used to keeping who I am a secret, after all this time.”

“I asked you who you were, once,” says Stella. “Are you ready to tell me? Off the record?”

So Diana tells her – of her youth in Themyscira, of the Amazons, of Paradise Island. Of how Steve crashed his plane, one day near the end of WWI. Of the story Diana’s Mother had told her of the war between the gods, and how Steve’s tale of the war to end all wars seemed to herald Ares’ return.

Diana tells Stella of falling in love with Steve, of losing him, and then... she falters.

“What happened then?” Stella demands. She loves a good story as long as it’s true, and this might be the best one she’s ever heard.

Diana tries to find the words. Even now, her relationship with Ares is complicated – her feelings for him even more so.

“I stripped him of his godhood,” she says. “Ares, my brother. And for the next twenty-seven years, he was the only family I had.”

“What?” Stella stares at Diana. “He tried to kill off humanity, and you...”

“I saw that there was still good in him, however twisted. I destroyed his power so that he could no longer tempt people to war the way he once had, and then I made sure he could never again influence others without my presence there to stop him. But he was my brother, and I could not deny that. Nor did I want to.”

Stella sits and looks at her.

“Well, I guess it was your call,” she says at last. “What happened to him?”

“He died,” says Diana. “He died on V-Day, in 1945.”

“Ironic, I suppose.”

“Not really,” Diana says. “What could be more fitting, than peace being ushered in on the day the former God of War dies?”

“There’s that,” says Stella. She reaches out to Diana, who takes her outstretched hand.

“I’m glad you told me,” says Stella, squeezing Diana’s hand. She looks at Diana, and shakes her head. “ _How_ has no one noticed that you’ve never aged?”

Diana shrugs, because she isn’t sure exactly how it works, only how she does it. She has Ares to thank, for that: he told her how to work that particular trick, and a number of others.

Diana is certain he barely touched on the bulk of what he knew about her powers. Brother or not, he was still Ares, and Diana wasn’t ready to hear the full extent of what she could do.

“I’m a goddess,” Diana tells Stella in answer. “Many of the things I do are beyond human understanding.”

“And you aim for a world without war.” Stella looks like she doesn’t know what to think. “And it’s not just a goal to you – you actually think you can _achieve_ it.”

“Humankind was never meant to have war in the first place,” says Diana. “All I want is to... take the world back, to what it should have been.”

“Well.” Stella sighs, and smiles wryly. “I suppose you’ve got the time.”

“Yes,” Diana agrees soberly. “I have time.”

An abundance of it.

* * *

Using some of the money Ares left her, money which even now mostly sits untouched, accruing interest, Diana hires a boat.

She gives the captain directions to the edge of the shield which hides Paradise Island. The rest of the journey she makes in a rowboat, past the shield, up to the edge of the shore where the jetty lies. There she ties her rowboat to one of the poles of the jetty. But Diana does not step foot on the island. Instead, she closes her eyes, concentrates, and does something she has but rarely done before.

Diana rises up into the air, and shrugs off her coat, revealing her armour underneath. She drops her coat into the boat below, and waits.

It does not take long for a delegation to come, Hippolyta at its head.

The group falters at the sight of Diana suspended in mid-air, armour shining in the morning sun, but then Diana’s Mother urges her horse forward into a canter and the rest of the group follows their queen down to the beach.

Diana’s Mother stops short of the water, and Diana drinks in the sight of her face, untouched by age since Diana last saw her.

Diana breaks the silence.

“Hello, Mother.”

“ _Diana_ ,” says her Mother, looking at Diana as though she wants never to look away. Then: “You know you cannot return here.”

“For it is forbidden for anyone to set foot on Paradise Island once they leave, I know.” Diana watches her mother carefully, and adds, “I have other homes now, Mother. Besides – Paradise Island is the home of the Amazons. Not the gods.”

There is a murmur from Hippolyta’s guard at that. She gestures at them.

“Leave us,” she says. “I believe that Diana intends no harm.”

“But Your Majesty–” 

“ _Leave us_.” 

The other Amazons retreat to a discreet distance, leaving Diana and her Mother alone to talk.

Diana’s Mother is silent for a moment.

“So you know the truth.”

“Ares told me,” says Diana, because part of her still resents the fact that it was he who finally told her the truth of who and what she was, when her Mother should have been the one to tell her.

Hippolyta doesn’t flinch.

“I felt Ares’ power leave this world. You killed him?”

“No,” says Diana. Her voice comes out gentle and sad, as she thinks of what her brother became in the time before his death: an old man, tired, sick and in need of care. “Time did that.”

“Explain,” Hippolyta says sharply.

“I didn’t need to kill him, because I stripped him of his godhood,” says Diana. “He became mortal, and like all mortals, his life eventually came to an end.”

Diana’s Mother turns pale.

“Impossible,” she says, and Diana sees her knuckles whiten in their grip on her mount’s reins. “No god can strip another god of their power. The only one who ever succeeded was...” She trails off.

“Was who, Mother?” Diana tilts her head, waiting for an answer.

“Was your father.” Diana’s Mother gives a long, shuddering sigh. When she raises her head again, her eyes are full of grim understanding. “Before the gods you know, there were others. Different beings, of powers that make the gods appear small.”

“What? Why did you not tell me of this?” Diana demands. 

“I have not finished,” says Diana’s Mother, in harsh rebuke. “These beings were named the Titans, and they gave birth to the first gods – Poisedon, Hades, Demeter, Hera, and the greatest god of all, Zeus.”

“What happened to them? Why have I never heard of them?”

“They were cruel, the Titans. It is said that they devoured their own children, for fear of being surpassed in power. But in the end, one god was born who was able to fight back against them, and that was Zeus. He led the gods against the Titans, and defeated the worst of them all: Kronos, his own father. Together, the gods imprisoned the Titans in Tartarus. Once, this was commonly known in the World of Men. But what was not widely known is that before the Titans were thrown into Tartarus, Zeus stripped them of their power.”

Diana is silent, thinking this through.

“Would Ares have known?” she asks suddenly.

“Without a doubt.”

“He never spoke a word of this to me,” says Diana, half to herself.

“You spoke to him after removing his power?” Hippolyta sounds alarmed. “You did not imprison him, to curtail his influence on mankind?”

“I did not need to. To a god, becoming mortal is punishment enough. And what influence? Without his power, all he had were words, and I made sure they could not bear fruit.”

“Why did you not kill him?” Diana’s Mother demands. “When you left, you were so full of certainty–”

“But as yet untried,” Diana interrupts. “Mother, I was little better than a child, untried and untested. My powers as a god were awakened in war, but I did not want war and death to be my legacy. I did not wish to be the God-Killer, as Ares once was. Besides... you speak as though killing my own blood should be easy.”

“Easy? No. Necessary?” says Diana’s Mother. “It was beyond necessary. Diana, has he influenced you?”

Diana thinks of twenty-seven years of Ares’ company, of learning everything from him that she was capable of learning under his tutelage.

Diana smiles involuntarily.

“Mother, I left Paradise Island and went out into Man’s world, a world of death and war. How could I not be influenced by such a thing?” Before Hippolyta could respond, Diana went on. “I have seen horrors which no one should ever see. But I have also seen great kindness, and acts of self-sacrifice, all in the name of a better world. What I felt before was a child’s certainty; what I feel now is a warrior’s conviction in their cause. War _can_ be ended; humanity _can_ be saved. I am sure of it. All I need is time.”

Hippolyta looks at her for a long moment. Then:

“You have grown, Diana.”

“It had to happen eventually.” Diana’s mouth twitches, not quite smiling.

“It is good to see you,” says her Mother. “You are certain Ares is no more?”

“I watched him die.” It is a memory which Diana would rather not have – but she was with him, at the end, so that he would not face his death alone. 

But Hippolyta relaxes slightly.

“Then you are the only god left,” she says.

“I am. I buried all those who were slain in Olympus.”

From her Mother’s startled expression, that was the last thing that Hippolyta expected.

“You...” Diana’s Mother falters. “Was your father...?”

Diana does not try to soften the blow.

“Yes.”

Her Mother closes her eyes.

“I had thought so,” she murmurs. “But to hear it confirmed...”

“I am sorry,” says Diana. 

“Do not be.” Diana’s Mother opens her eyes again. “You said that Ares is dead, and yet you speak of war as though it is not ended.”

Diana laughs a little, and sees Hippolyta draw back. In that moment, Diana realises that her laughter is exactly the response that Ares would have had – because she understands, now, just as Ares did, what war is to humankind.

Her Mother does not understand this reaction, and sees no reason for Diana’s laughter.

“Did you think that just because Ares is gone, war would be over?” Diana shakes her head. “Mother, surely you understand the situation better than that.”

“I think that I do,” says her Mother. “But tell me, all the same.”

“Humanity has experienced thousands of years of war. Thousands of years with Ares whispering in their ears of how violence and war is the best solution to any problem they encounter. Humankind has learned that there is nothing to be gained from peace, and everything to be gained from war.”

“So they war with one another,” says Diana’s Mother. “And it was all for nothing.”

“No,” said Diana strongly. “Never that. Not nothing. Because slowly, they are beginning to learn. There are good and kind people still, who look out for one another and care for others even in the most terrible of circumstances. More and more, they are turning against war – oh, the generals and the men in power still plan wars, but the people below them – the people are slowly coming to see that war is neither glorious, nor necessary. I have _faith_ in them, Mother. I do not doubt their eventual redemption.”

Hippolyta is silent for a long moment.

“Then you are truly your father’s daughter,” she says softly. 

Diana smiles.

“I wish I could have known him.”

“He was far from perfect,” says her Mother dryly. “And yet – in the end, he sought only to protect that which he had created, believing that they had potential beyond what was obvious.”

“I have missed you,” says Diana.

“And I you, daughter. But you know you cannot stay.”

“I know.” Diana’s lips quirk. “But there is no reason I cannot pay you a visit, now and then.”

“I wish you luck in your quest,” says her Mother, and hesitates. “...be careful, Diana. I still believe they do not deserve you.”

“And I choose to believe that they do.” Dian drifts downwards, until her feet touch the wooden interior of the rowboat. “Goodbye, Mother. Give my love to all.”

Hippolyta stands and watches as Diana rows back out to sea. She is a tiny figure on the distance shore as Diana finally rolls back past the shield, and the island disappears from view.

Diana stops to pull on her coat again, and rows back towards the ship that brought her here, her heart feeling far lighter than it did before.

She realises that she’s still smiling, hard enough that it hurts.

_ One day at a time _ , she thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue to go! 
> 
> Also, [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-t5gGm3NWU4&feature=player_embedded) has been my soundtrack for much of this fic.


	6. Epilogue: In a League of Their Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and encouraged me with comments as I wrote this. I hope you have enjoyed this fic.

** Epilogue: In a League of Their Own **

The stories begin like this: there is a man.

He dresses in blue, with a red symbol on his chest that resembles a highly-stylised ‘S’. He performs feats which no ordinary human being can perform.

Here the stories diverge. Sometimes the man can fly; in other versions, he lifts weights far beyond the carrying capacity of any mortal man. In yet more versions, he is unharmed by fire, no matter how fiercely it burns.

But the stories all have one thing in common: he is super-human, and he does his best to save people. He goes wherever there are people in need, regardless of borders or boundaries.

Diana hears the stories. At first she dismisses them, but as the stories grow and spread, something about them gives her pause. Some divine instinct tells her: _this is important_.

So Diana listens.

She listens, and analyses, and finds the common thread of each tale – and there _is_ a common thread, make no mistake about that. And Diana wonders.

In her Mother’s stories, and even in Ares’ account (however obliquely he had spoken of it), Ares had killed every god but her. Diana has never doubted this; she has never seen any evidence to the contrary.

But this young man... if the stories are true... 

What do they mean?

The day that ‘Superman’ first makes front-page news, Diana buys a copy of the paper and sits and pores over every detail. Most of all, she looks at the blurred photograph of this new ‘superhero’ in action. She can make out enough to tell that he has a young, honest-looking face – and his eyes do not give the lie to that youth. Whereas Diana’s eyes are full of the sorrow and grief and determination of nearly a century of loss and heartbreak and horror... this man, whoever and whatever he is, looks _young_ where it counts. Far younger than Diana.

Diana does her research as more stories of Metropolis’ new superhero appear. She buys a subscription to _The Daily’s Planet_ ’s website, and reads the stories there. They are mostly written by the paper’s top reporters, one Lois Lane and one Clark Kent. Diana looks up their profiles on Facebook. Both accounts appear fairly unremarkable.

But Diana stares at Clark Kent’s profile picture for a very long time.

* * *

Diana learns what she can about Mr Kent.

Currently single, although rumour has it he is on the brink of a ‘thing’ with his co-reporter, Ms Lane, and he was raised in a quiet country town by parents who had instilled good old-fashioned values of kindness and respect for others in their son.

“He’s a bit of a dork, and clearly nutty on Lois Lane, but he’s good people,” says one of those people whom Diana’s contacts tell her to talk to.

“He’s a damn good reporter,” says one of his co-workers, at a bar. “He could dress better, though.”

“Yeah, I went to school with him,” says one of his old high-school classmates. “Look, what is this about?”

Diana smiles.

“I wish to offer him an opportunity,” she says.

In the end, she drives out to Smallville, Kansas, to a small farm on its outskirts. She parks outside the farmhouse, and walks in sensible shoes across the space between her car and the Kent’s residence.

The door is opened by an older woman who has keen brown eyes which miss nothing.

“Can I help you?” she asks, looking surprised to find Diana standing at her door.

“I understand that your son is visiting you and your husband at the moment, Mrs Kent,” says Diana.

Martha Kent is thrown off-balance.

“Clark? He’s off with his father, over in the barn,” she says, wariness coming to the surface. But then, if Diana is right, then she has reason for it. “Is there a reason why you want to see him?”

“I’m afraid that reason is between me and your son,” says Diana.

Martha’s eyes narrow.

“Is that so? I hope you’re not here to bring trouble down on my son, Miss–?”

“Prince,” says Diana. “Diana Prince. And if I’m right, I think that your son has already brought enough trouble down on himself.”

Two figures come strolling across the expanse between the farmhouse and the barn then, their postures carefully relaxed, designed to lull any observers into a sense that there is nothing to see here.

But Martha’s eyes don’t stray from Diana.

“What is this about?” Martha asks.

Diana smiles, briefly.

“I suspect that your son will know, the moment he sees me. But it is important that I find out.”

“Mom!” a voice calls out, and one of the figures strolling across the grass leaves the other, jogging forward. Diana turns, and appraises the young man who is approaching.

He’s tall, with broad, strong shoulders, wearing a baggy flannel shirt and jeans which she suspects are deliberately chosen to hide the truth of his physique. Dark hair, cut in a conservative style; glasses with thick black frames which do nothing to hide the very blue eyes behind them. 

One look at him up close, and Diana knows that she was right.

Clark Kent slows as he grows closer and gets a good look Diana’s face.

“Ma’am,” he says, as he joins Diana and his mother. His voice is hushed and respectful. “It’s an honour.”

Diana smiles, while Martha looks between them in confusion.

“I thought that you would be able to see me for who I am,” says Diana. “My powers stop most people from putting two and two together, but I thought... well, I had reason to believe you might be a little different, in that respect.”

Clark takes a step backward, his expression suddenly rueful.

“Wait,” he says, “does that mean you can tell...?” He gestures towards his face.

Diana inclines her head.

“The glasses are a nice touch – Superman.” 

Martha gasps.

“What’s all this?” Jonathan Kent demands, joining the group. “What nonsense–”

But Clark just says, “ _Dad_ ,” and Jonathan goes silent. Clark steps forward, offering his hand for Diana to shake.

“Wonder Woman,” says Clark, as Diana shakes his hand in greeting. There are more gasps, from Jonathan as well as Martha this time. “Like I said; it’s an honour.”

“The honour is all mine,” says Diana. It sounds like mere politeness, but Diana means every word. She turns to Clark’s parents. “Perhaps we should take this inside?”

Looking stunned, Jonathan and Martha nod, and lead the way into the house. Diana follows. Clark smiles, sticks his hands in his pockets, and slouches inside after the rest of them.

“So,” says Clark, when they are all settled. “Why didn’t the glasses trick work on you?”

“I am a goddess,” says Diana. “My father was Zeus, of the ancient Greek pantheon. I am all that is left of the gods, now.” She changes the subject deftly, leaning forward. “But what I would like to know is what _you_ are.”

Clark’s smile is back, rueful and self-deprecating.

“It’s a little hard to believe.”

“Try me,” Diana says.

Clark tells her a story that does indeed sound unbelievable: of being born on another world, and sent to Earth by parents fearing the worst. Of his home planet’s destruction soon after, of being adopted by Martha and Jonathan, of growing up _different_ from everyone else around him. Of discovering that he was Kal-El of Krypton – the last of an entire people.

Maybe, if Diana were anyone else, she wouldn’t believe it. But she looks at Clark, who emanates warmth and good humour and moral conviction even from here, and she knows that the story is true.

She looks at Martha and Jonathan.

“And you were not worried about raising an alien for a son?” Diana asks, even though she already knows the answer.

Martha only shrugs, and Jonathan says, “Well, he was always yanking the doorknobs off the doors and accidentally crushing the drinking glasses as a kid, but well, he grows on you.”

Clark says, “ _Dad_.”

Diana allows herself a smile as Jonathan grins, unrepentant. She thinks that she could get to like Martha and Jonathan, if given the opportunity. And then there’s Clark.

“What made you decide to become a superhero?” Diana asks Clark. “Surely it endangers this life you have worked so hard to build. You may be invulnerable, but if anyone finds out the truth, you will never have peace or privacy again.”

Clark straightens out of his slouch, any pretence of being ordinary falling away from him. His blue eyes shine with something that is more than human as he responds.

“I couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. Not while people were suffering. Not when I can help.”

Diana is reminded, suddenly and illogically, of Steve. Clark’s conviction is untarnished by war, his idealism untouched, and he could not be more different from Steve, and yet –

Diana breathes, and tries to fight down the sudden surge of emotion.

“Are you alright?” 

Diana raises a hand, wordless asking for a moment.

“I’m fine,” she says, once the lump in her throat is gone. “It is just – you reminded me, for a moment, of someone I used to know.”

Clark looks at her with those blue eyes full of concern and warmth, and Diana knows down to her bones that her informant was right: Clark Kent – Kal El – is _good people_.

Clark doesn’t ask about who he reminds her of. He waits in silence for Diana to recover her equilibrium.

“I have an idea,” Diana says. “It is what brought me here.”

Clark looks at her.

“What kind of idea?” asks Martha. Diana glances at her, but speaks to Clark.

“We are both something more than human, Clark, you and I. Why not work together for the betterment of humankind?”

Clark arches an eyebrow, intrigued.

“It is possible that one day, there will be more like us,” says Diana. Her instincts have never led her wrong, and they tell her that something big is on the horizon. “People with extraordinary powers, capable of extraordinary things. They will need guidance and assistance.” 

“Do you think it’s likely?” Clark asks. 

Diana nods, her expression solemn.

“Something tells me that a new age is dawning.”

“Well, I’d be happy to work with you,” says Clark, shaking his head. “I mean, I grew up hearing about you in history class, reading about you – all the amazing things you did. I’ve always tried to live up to your example.”

“I’m flattered,” says Diana. “So, is it a deal?”

“Deal,” Clark agrees.

They shake on it.

* * *

Diana sits on a park bench and looks out at the sunset on the horizon. She stares unflinchingly into the fading light of the sun.

She doesn’t know what is coming, but she meant what she said to Clark – she feels that a new age is dawning. There was a time she would have politely disbelieved anyone who spoke of aliens, of a wider universe beyond Earth – but now that she has met Clark, Diana wonders if perhaps the wider universe is about to involve itself with this isolated planet. The Age of Gods may be over, but perhaps there will be a new substitute – an age of people like Clark, as powerful as the gods and larger than life, born on planets far away. Clark is different from humanity, there is no doubt about that, but... it is a good different, Diana thinks. 

Somehow, Clark is something new: someone with all best traits of humanity and seemingly none of their weaknesses – and Diana is not talking about his physical powers. Sheer _goodness_ radiates from Clark like a physical presence: his goodness is simple in the sense that in Clark, good and evil are not at war with each other. Clark’s morality overrides all temptation, any darkness in his soul, for all that he is not an uncomplicated person.

Diana thinks that she could grow to trust Clark, in a way that she has trusted no one since the end of the Great War. It would be nice to have a friend who understands many of the burdens she carries, and who is strong enough to carry some of the load.

Diana herself has barely tapped her own powers, but she thinks that perhaps, after all this time, it is time for that to change. Maybe, with a new age on the horizon, Diana needs to change with it, and accept herself for what she truly is. 

But if Diana is right, then she is no longer truly alone. There is another, now, who understands her struggle to save humanity from itself, who genuinely wishes for them to be the best that they can be, and believes that they will eventually reach that goal. And one day, there may be others like the two of them, with the power to help others and the faith in human nature that has been so tested in Diana. 

Diana smiles, and thinks of the future as the last of the light fades from the horizon. 

Ares did not believe in the goodness of humankind. Diana's Mother said that they did not deserve her. But perhaps with time, humanity will prove both of them wrong. 

Diana looks forward to it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(P.S. And eventually Diana and Clark found the Justice League. The end.)_


End file.
